


Bat Family Drabbles

by GeneratorCat



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneratorCat/pseuds/GeneratorCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I finally separated the gen from the JayTim drabbles. If you've been reading 'Here There be Drabbles' then you will have already read the first 15 of these.<br/>Now available in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/9134248">Vietnamese!</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally separated the gen from the JayTim drabbles. If you've been reading 'Here There be Drabbles' then you will have already read the first 15 of these.  
> Now available in [Vietnamese!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9134248)

Tim opens the door, sees Dick’s guilty puppy smile, and immediately slams it shut.

A muffled whine of, “Timmy, come on!” comes from the outside. Tim waits. He knows he will eventually let Dick come in. But he’s still pissed. So let the bastard wait. “Seriously, Tim, this is important. An emergency, even. _Please_ let us in.”

Us? Relenting- out of curiosity, mind you, not because Dick actually persuaded him- he opens the door again. This time he notices that Jason is standing next to Dick.

“What do you want?”

Dick hesitates, grimacing but also smiling, trying to be placating, until his face twists hilariously and Tim wants to laugh at it but keeps it in. When Dick continues to struggle to find words that will appease, Tim looks to Jason.

Jason just shrugs. Really helpful.

Dick starts babbling, “He doesn’t know, I figured I would wait until we were all together to explain and I don’t want to bother you but we kind of need some hel-”

“Dick,” Tim snaps. “You know what I want to hear right now. Next words out your mouth better be a fucking apology.” Tim stares the man down, using his most threatening glare. Which is actually pretty intimidating. He’s proud of it.

Squirming under the stare, Dick finally cracks. “I’m sorry. Really _super-duper_ sorry.”

Not enough. Say it. “What for?”

He glances at Jason and then looks back at Tim imploringly. “Now?”

“Yes.”

The whimper Dick lets out is sweet poetry to Tim’s betrayed ears. “I’m… sorry for breaking in to your apartment last week.” He adds softly, “I thought you were still out of town.”

Tim crosses his arms over his chest. “Not an excuse, Dick. What else?”

“And I’m sorry for having sex in your bed.”

“And?”

“For not telling you until after you had already slept in it.”

“You didn’t _tell me_ , Dick. You confessed when I cornered you with the condom wrapper I found in my sheets.”

Jason looks suitably horrified. He mutters, “Oh, shit…”

Yes. Oh, shit indeed. Tim glares at Dick. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry for leaving Wally drunk on your couch and I’m sorry you had to take care of him and clean up after him the next morning.”

“One more thing,” Tim growls.

Hanging his head in shame, Dick whispers, “…I’m sorry I ate all of your poptarts.”

Jason gasps.

Tim yells. “All of my fucking poptarts, Dick! And they were _s’mores!”_

Throwing his hands over his face, Dick shrieks, “I know! I’m _so sorry_ , Tim. I’ll buy you so many poptarts- all the poptarts in Gotham!”

“Damn right you will.”

Shaking his head, Jason says, “He said you might be mad at him for something, but… fuck.”

“Am I forgiven?”

“You’ll be forgiven when I get those poptarts.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tim typed quickly, with conviction. The keys rat-tat-tatted in a soothing rhythm. Light from the computer monitor cast a pale sheen onto his face, making him appear gaunt and sickly, in stark contrast to reality. Tim was healthy, vibrant, and happy. He was a warrior, fending off the evils of the world and his own mind, the computer his armor and the words being typed his fearsome sword. Agile fingers danced gracefully, forging words that filled the digital page. At last, he was in control. Power surged through him, feeding the fire of his faith. Faith in himself, his family, mankind, which had abandoned him. The revival of his certainty and trust engendered his work to continue once more.

He wrote. Concepts, perceptions, solutions, defenses, and deductions poured out of him, clearing away the dust and confusion in his mind. He felt the change happening, a vigorous, cleansing surge of clarity. He now had purpose and an outlet. The relief he felt, the sudden release of pain, made him shudder with optimism. He was compelled, verging on obsessed. Words flowed freely, unhindered by doubt. He entered a fugue of writers’ overload. Concerns trapped within his weary soul were unleashed. His heart grew strong, his essence fortified. Eyes opened wide, mouth shaping a quivering ‘Oh’, feet fidgeting, he was enchanted in a state of ecstasy unparalleled even to that of loving a woman. He was captivated by the sound of the tapping keys and the blue light from the monitor and the feel of the chair molding to his body and the music playing softly in the back ground and the undeniable impulse to stay here, do this forever and never finish because he was brilliant and could write until he collapsed. His breathing hastened until he gasped and wheezed and really he should have gotten his inhaler but this was just too good and he could manage without it because he had to because he couldn’t stop now or even take a break.

Yes, he thought, yes! It’s beautiful, inspired! Fear my might, ye of little- one wrong key pressed, and the page was blank. Gone was his work.

Tim sank back into his chair, shock knocking him off of his self-made pedestal.

He whimpered a faint, “… _fuck_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm... not exactly sure what this is. but I just imagine Tim getting all worked up and then-


	3. Chapter 3

“Todd!”

“Yes?” he replies innocently, hiding the glee threatening to break through. And not doing very god job at that. 

“You’ve ruined my breakfast, you mongrel!”

Sipping on his coffee (black today because, well, spoilers) Jason asks, “How?” his shit-eating grin surfacing. 

“You know damn well,” Damian growls from across the table. “If I had no regard for Pennyworth, I would throw this cereal at your face.”

Alfred picks up Damian’s bowl and carries it over to the sink. “I appreciate your not making a mess, Master Damian. What did you do to the cereal, Master Jason?”

“Nothing.”

Alfred raises his eyebrow. 

“The cereal is fine. Promise. It’s the-”

“Good morning,” Tim mumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen. He immediately goes to the coffee maker, grabbing his favorite mug and the sugar jar.

Jason looks pleadingly at Damian and Alfred, requesting their silence. Snorting, Damian nods. Of course he would want to see this. Alfred just leaves the kitchen, leaves the boys to their fights and pranks. 

Having prepared his coffee, Tim takes a seat at the table. 

Jason waits with bated breath. This is going to be so good…

Tim picks up the newspaper.

And sips his coffee.

And… flips to the next page. And sips his coffee again.

Jason and Damian look to each other in bewilderment.

“Um…Tim?”

“Yeah, Jason?”

“How’s your coffee?”

“Great, thanks.”

“So… it tastes alright? Like normal?”

Tim looks up and blinks a couple times, like he’s just now registering that Jason is speaking and that he himself is awake and the world has color. He drinks his coffee, testing. 

“Hmm. It is different. I like it.”

Damian, having had enough of his ‘brothers’, walks away from the table muttering something about uncivilized swine.

Shaking his head, Jason sits back disappointedly. He had been so sure of a reaction, like Damian. Whatever. Tim is weird as fuck. And he still has Dick and Bruce yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I'm losing control"

“Hey! Kid, _cool it!”_

Jason scrambled out of the way of flying bits of wood, debris of the table Damian had just smashed.

“Cool it,” Damian growled. “I _can’t_ , you idiot!”

He grabbed a pillow off the couch and tore it into shreds, feathers filling the air.

“I know, okay? I _get it_ ,” Jason yelled. He grabbed the kid just before he went for the knives hidden under the couch. Jason shook him a little, just to get his attention. “I know you can’t make this go away, but you _can_ handle it better than this.”

Snarling, Damian kicked and thrashed about in the cage of Jason’s arms. Normally he would have been able to escape, probably, but he was too far gone, too caught up in rage to think rationally, to throw proper punches. Jason just held him until he eventually calmed, if only a little.

“I get it,” he repeated. “I’ve been there. So learn from me.”

Damian’s little chest heaved as he panted, harsh and quick. He rubbed bruised knuckles against his tired eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken and so very young. “I feel like I’m losing control.”

“I know,” Jason said and hugged his brother tight.


	5. Chapter 5

Damian bolted upright, hand already flying toward the knife under his pillow before his eyes even opened. He realised someone was kneeling on the edge of his bed and he reared up, positioning to defend himself.

“Hey, woah,” the person said, their hands raised placatingly, and after a moment Damian relaxed slightly. 

“Grayson. What are you doing?”

“You were having a bad dream.”

And Damian already knew that. It was what had caused him to wake up, or so he had thought.

Dick continued, “I could hear you when I passed by your door.” He sat down, making himself comfortable. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Tt- no. There’s nothing to discuss.” Damian fingered the hilt of the knife he still held. It was a beautiful weapon, the handle ornately carved oak and the blade formidable through repeated tempering. It had been gift from his mother. 

“You sure?”

“Quite,” Damian growled. “I want to go back to sleep, so quit pestering me.”

Dick huffed in what Damian thought could be amusement. Though with Grayson it more likely was concern. He said, “Alright. Just let me go get something. I’ll be right back.” 

As Dick walked away, Damian tried to settle back into the blankets. He gripped the knife tightly, though he held it underneath the sheets. He stared up at the ceiling, the disturbing images from his dream playing in his mind. He tried to will them away but they came back stronger, more blood, more lonely. 

A minute later Dick returned. In his hand was a stuffed toy, a bear, which he held out. “Here.”

Damian looked from the toy to Dick and back again. “A teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“What am I going to do with that?”

“This,” Dick said as he slid the bear under the top of the blanket so that it rested near Damian’s shoulder. 

“What’s the point of this, Grayson?”

“It’ll help. With your dreams.”

“...Are you stupid?”

“Just trust me, okay? I use to sleep with him, when I was your age.”

“How can you possibly be under the impression that a raggedy old sack of cotton can magically dispel unpleasant dreams?”

Dick sighed. “It just does. Just try it, Dami. For one night. You can give him back tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Damian rolled his eyes. 

“Good. Goodnight.”

Damian just rolled over, pointedly facing away from the stuffed bear.

In the morning Dick slipped into the room and found the boy grasping his old toy, curling around it and snoring peacefully, and he smiled, figuring he wouldn’t be getting the thing back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I request something really angsty with Bruce and Tim pretty please? maybe like Bruce is really hurt on patrol and it's up to Tim to get him back into the Cave and under Alfred's care?"

Tim knelt next to the bed, head buried in the fluffy white sheets. When he felt he could do so without crying, he looked up at Bruce, laid out, as vulnerable as Tim had ever seen him. He was covered in bandages, blood soaked through even though Alfred had recently changed them.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is. Wasn’t good enough. Fast enough.” Tim grabbed his own shirt, fists clenching hard, twisting the fabric. “I’m never enough,” he growled.

“You will be, someday. I need you to be, while I’m gone.”

Tim laughed. Even he heard how wrong it sounded. “I’m not taking over, Bruce. I don’t want to be Batman. You know that.”

“Do you really think you can escape it?”

Tim sagged, laying his head down again. He looked at Bruce’s rough hands just two inches from his face. He blinked back tears of frustration.

“You will be back. Right?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Okay,” he exhaled deep and harsh. “I guess, for a little while.”

“I can always count on you.”

“It’s like that Bonnie Raitt song. _Winter, spring, summer, or fall. All you have to do is call and I’ll come running to see you again_.”

“Watch over the others. Keep them safe.”

“Well, I’d love to. But I think we’ve established I’m not great at that. Look at all the people I’ve loved that-” Tim dug his nails into his arms.

“But you will try.”

“I will. And that’s the kicker, huh? I try and it does nothing. They still die.”

“Just do what you need to do. Save whomever you can.”

A knock on the door made Tim turn to see Alfred.

“Miss Barbara is here to pay her respects.”

“Alight, I’ll be out in just a second.”

Alfred left, closing the door softy. Tim stood, looking down at the cold man taking up too little space in the bed. He reached out to take Bruce’s hand but stopped, just hovered over it. His eyes burned and he retracted his hand to wipe away the tears before they could fall. Stepped away.

“I can’t save anyone.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tim and Damian, bro bonding over anything of your choice"

Damian scoffed. “The fools obviously didn’t do any research for this.”

“I know, right? It’s painful,” Tim said as he grabbed more popcorn. “Like, most if this is just common sense, even.”

“Disgraceful,” Damian agreed. 

“Who thought it was okay to give this guy weaponry from two different centuries?”

“And only one of them is native to the region.”

“I just don’t get it.”

Jason groaned, throwing an arm out for a handful of popcorn “You two are literally the only ones who care.”

“This really doesn’t bother you?” Tim waved toward the TV screen, sounding thoroughly incredulous.

“It’s just a movie,” Jason shrugged. “If you want historical accuracy, try a documentary.”

Again, Damian scoffed. “It shouldn’t prove difficult at all for a movie to be both entertaining and accurate.”

“Exactly,” Tim chimed. 

“You’re just too picky. Now hush.” Jason reached for the bowl in Tim’s lap, but Tim moved it to his far side, away from Jason and closer to Damian. 

Jason looked hurt.

Damian smirked and carefully, so as not to cover himself with salt and butter, took a piece of popcorn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Confusion + Tim Drake pretty please!"

Tim peered into the large box. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Walked away. Made some coffee. Came back and- it was still there. There was still a box in his foyer filled with packages of water balloons, foam swords, bulk boxes of skittles, and… was that a five gallon vat of coconut oil? 

Again he checked the invoice and the packing slip and the printed address on the top and they all confirmed that he, Tim Drake, had ordered this. He went to his laptop and pulled up Amazon, searched through his order history until he found it. Yep. The order had been placed eight days ago at 3:17 a.m. Tim looked from the computer to the box and back again. A dozen times. 

What the fuck. He couldn’t remember doing this. Why would he have done this? 

Eight days ago… Tim thought back, trying to remember what he had done that night. Morning. Whatever. That was the night he had passed out. The days previous he was working on a case and he went non-stop until Dick literally picked him up, took him home, and locked him inside his apartment. 

So apparently Tim woke up at some point. Worse, maybe he did this in his sleep. And apparently Tim’s subconscious wanted water balloons, toy swords, skittles, and coconut oil. 

Tim takes out a box of skittles and rips into it. May as well enjoy it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian + paradise

“Look at what I’m offering you.”

The voice slithers into your ears, invading your mind, a dark fog on your senses. Images play across your eyes languidly, letting you feel each scene deeply. Your fingers twitch with the need to reach out and grab these things, hold them close, tuck them under your pillow at night. But you won’t let yourself do that. Can’t allow yourself to covet these moments, or you’ll lose yourself to this fantasy, and this is only fantasy, and that’s why you must refuse.

So you draw your knife and one by one slash the pictures, again, unrecognizable because you need them gone before you’re tempted to change your mind.

The voice sounds thicker, pitying when it says, “Don’t you realize what you could have?”

Swallowing down the burn in your throat, the acid tears threatening to pour out of you, you answer, “I don’t want it.”

The voice is familiar, you think. There is a tone of genuine concern that unsettles your resolve more than the words themselves. "No more pain. No more judgments, standards you can’t achieve. That look in their eyes when they see the monster you are.“

And then you see him. Yourself. A pure version of you, void of scars and darkness. He has innocence in his eyes and he reaches out, “Please,” he says. “We could have paradise.”

It’s seductive, that voice. Your own voice, lighter and care-free like you’ve never heard it before. For a moment you can’t remember the importance of what you’ve been asked to exchange.

“Forget them.”

Your heart stops at the thought. Ice grips your chest while fire spreads in your head. You say with your true voice, one broken but always healed again, “Never.” And you raise your knife and plunge it into the weak heart of this other you.

The pictures crumble and the voice fades and the blood burns your hands but you know. You know Father and the others will be there soon. For you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hush + Bruce, little Jason

Batman searched frantically through the ruble, rising smoke obscuring his vision. Finally, sees the tattered yellow cape, the red of the jerkin and matching red blood.

One look tells the story. There’s no need to check for a pulse. But he does anyway.

Dropping to his knees, Batman reaches out, taking a limp wrist in shaky, gloved fingers.

Nothing. He’s lost him. Batman lifts the figure into his arms. He's already getting cold to the touch.

Batman cradles the boy to his chest.

_Gone._

Bruce shouts, lunging forward in his bed, sheets tangled in his frantically kicking legs. He yells for his son. The image of Jason’s broken body, his torn uniform, is burned into his mind.

“Bruce?”

Jason stands in the doorway, hair mussed up and pajamas wrinkled.

“Are you okay? I heard you yelling.”

“Jay-lad,” Bruce croaks out. “Come here. Please.”

When Jason reaches the bed Bruce grabs him, holding onto him as fiercely as he’d just done in his dream.

His voice is raw between sobs, tears burning his skin. “I dreamt- you were. I _couldn’t_ , I didn’t make it. In time.”

“It’s okay, B. I’m here,” Jason says, squeezing back. “I’m not going anywhere. You’d never let anything happen to me, right?”

“Right.” He pulls back enough to see Jason's face, worried but safe and whole. “I’d _never_ let _anything_ happen to you, son.“


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: The hills are alive with the sound of bullshit

“No.”

“Jason-”

“No,” Jason can’t tear his eyes away from the monstrosities hanging from the stairway banister. “I mean, you’re kidding, right?”

Bruce knew this would be difficult. He has a back-up plan that’s guaranteed to work, but he’d rather get Jason to agree civilly.

“Oh come on, it’ll look nice,” Dick reasons. He knows what it’ll look like and it will not at all be nice.

“They’re fucking sailor outfits,” Jason yells. “Matching sailor outfits! What are we, the Von Trappe family?”

Tim finally speaks up, “I don’t want to be the Von Trappe family. They sing too much.” He looks at Bruce with a grave expression, “I’m not singing.”

“You don’t have to sing, Tim.”

And apparently that was Tim’s only objection to this situation because he just nods and unhooks his outfit from the railing, walks away to change and leaves Jason quite betrayed.

“This is bullshit,” he growls. “The hills are alive with the sound of bullshit, B.”

Bruce is out of time. The photographer is in the living room setting up, they’re supposed to be ready in six minutes. He has no choice but to go for the hail-Mary.

“Alfred requested we wear them.”

“…Fuck,” Jason spits as he snatches his clothes. “Fucking _shit_ , fine. But you go Captain Von Trappe and get a whistle to summon us with, I’m shoving it right up your ass, Bruce.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Bruce and little Jason, open your eyes

It was cold up in the skyline of Gotham. Jason wondered why he was wearing these stupid green panties rather than actual pants, but for probably the only time, he was grateful to them. With the wind biting his bare legs, any trembling could be chalked up to the cold.

Jason Todd was _not_ afraid. He was a _man_.

Sure, he’d never been this high up before, but it wasn’t a problem. And he was about to fly for the first time ever, but he was handling it. Like a _man_.

“For the first one, we’ll go tandem, so you can get feel for it.”

“Don’t have to, ya know. I could go right now. By myself.”

“I’m sure.” Bruce’s smile looked way wrong in the cowl. No- _Batman._ Always Batman on the field.

Batman stepped up onto the ledge and held out a hand, which Jason ignored. He did not need help. Stepping up next to Bruce, he glanced down and- shit. Fuck that was really far. And the weakness in his knees was from the _cold_ , dammit. He moved closer and Bruce wrapped an arm around him, pulling out the grapple gun.

“Ready?”

Jason swallowed. “Born ready, B. Come on already.”

And then they were falling.

There was more pressure than he expected. The pushing against his chest hurt and his ears rang. He couldn’t breathe.

It was so _fast._

He heard the grapple fire and a moment later felt it catch, their bodies yanked from a downward trajectory to an upward swing. Finally, he could suck in a lungful of Gotham’s smog. Refreshing.

“Open you eyes, son.”

Jason hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

He opened his eyes. And it was beautiful. There was nothing like this, he decided, not even that one rollercoaster he rode a while back.

They landed on another building and Jason jumped around like a puppy. A very manly puppy, mind you.

“That was amazing!”

Bruce did that creepy smile thing again. “Want to try by yourself this time?”

Jason reached for his own gun. He was still shaking, but now it was from excitement. And the cold, of course. “Hell yeah. Come on, old man. Let’s race!“


	13. Chapter 13

He hears squeaking, a thousand faint chirps and rustling… fabric? And voices to his left, murmuring. Tim opens his eyes and sees rock hanging over him. Stalagmites. And there, up high, are bats. So the rustling was wings. He’s in a cave. Sitting up, he sees… oh. Not _a_ cave. _The_ cave.

“He’s awake,” he hears and two men walk over to the table he’s sitting on.

He struggles for a moment over what to call him but decides on, “Mr. Wayne?”

“You can call me Bruce, Tim.”

And that’s. Not right. He’s only met the man a few times and never was it so casual. But, then again, the times before Mr. Wayne didn’t know Tim knew about Batman. And once you know something like that, you should probably be on a first name basis.

“Okay… Bruce. And,” Tim doesn’t recognise the other man. Well, he does, but. He’s not sure.

“Dick,” the man says.

Dick. The only Dick that Tim knows of in Bruce Wayne’s life is Dick Grayson but this man is too old. Dick Grayson is just a boy. Actually, Bruce looks older than he should. There’s a noticeable difference from that last time Tim saw him at that charity event. Some grey hair and wrinkles.

“Why am I here?”

Mr. Wayne asks, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Um. I was…” Tim looks down at his hands. Are those his hands? They’re. Bigger. “I was getting ready to head out for the night. To follow… You,” he whispers to Bruce.

He thinks maybe Bruce smiled briefly at that but it’s gone quickly.

“You and-”

“Hey, B. So what’s up that was so important?”

The man who interrupted Tim hops down the stairs and when he’s close enough for Tim to see his face, Tim sucks in a breath and lets out a shocked, “Jason!”

“Yeah?”

Jason is changed. He’d older and is just. Different. Tim can’t place it right away but something is off. But it’s him. That is Jason Todd. Tim _knows_.

“Why is Tim looking at me like that?”

“There was an incident,” Bruce says.

Meanwhile, Tim takes a closer look at Dick. He’s older, but. That’s him. And Tim’s breathing has picked up because something is wrong. He knows these people but he doesn’t and he doesn’t recognise his hands; even his voice sounds wrong. Lower. _What is going on?_

Dick steps closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay, Tim.”

Jason’s frowning. Part of Tim wants to think he’s concerned. “What kind of incident?”

“He was hit, hard.”

Jason crosses his arms. “And? Is he okay?”

“Physically, yes.”

“…But?”

“Tim,” Bruce says as he steps into Tim’s direct line of sight to catch his attention. “How old were you, in your last memory?”

“Was…? I’m. Eleven.”

“Shit,” Jason spits.

Dick squeezes his shoulder. “That was six years ago, Tim.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breaking the rules + my child

Bruce crept down the hall, sticking to the shadows. At every hallway juncture he paused, listening. When he was certain it was clear he dashed across, the balls of his feet making naught a whisper against the carpet. Closer and closer to his goal his heart beat faster. 

This was a dangerous game he played. 

The stiches in his leg pulled as he went. His head was still hurting but he disregarded his injuries. This was just too important. 

Finally, he slipped through a secret entrance, one he was sure wouldn’t be watched. He made it to the computer. With a sigh, he plopped down into the chair. Now to get to work.

“I’m telling Alfred.”

Shit. 

“I just needed to finish this one thing-”

Tim sidled up next to him, leaning his against the desk. “Alfred said six hours, right? I’m pretty sure it’s only been four.”

“Who’s the parent here?”

“Who’s acting like the child here?”

And yeah. He had a point. He actually snuck out if his room, for fuck’s sake.

“Four hours was sufficient.”

“You’re not setting a great example for your children, Bruce. I’m playing back this recording for you next time I cut my bed rest short.”

Tim started for the stairs. 

Bruce called after him, “You’re not really telling Alfred, are you?”

Tim kept walking.

“Tim?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie + Jason, "dying in your arms"

“Jay, I think…” Stephanie panted, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen, rather than whatever poison she’d been sprayed with. “I think I’m dying.”

“For real, this time?”

“Heh. Yeah, for real. Like totally.” She stumbled, her legs no longer strong enough to hold her, but Jason caught her. He was strong enough. He could hold her through this.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Jason gently sat down, laying Stephanie in his lap. She leaned against him, head on his shoulder.

Tim was off to the cave to synthesize an antidote, but Steph knew he wouldn’t make it back in time. She was slipping fast. She couldn’t feel her feet.

“Please don’t let Tim blame himself.”

Jason brushed the stray hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Wish I could, but you know nothing I say will stop him.”

“Well. At least try.”

“Of course.”

“I’m cold. Is it supposed to be this cold?” Her voice was soft and that, more than anything, hurt because Jason had never heard her be anything but _forceful_.

“I don’t know. Mine was a little different.”

“Mm.”

They were silent for a minute. Stephanie started to shake and Jason wrapped his arms around her.

“Did you know I have a baby, Jason?”

“No, Steph. I didn’t. What’s their name?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed and for the first time Jason saw tears welling up in her eyes.

They fell silent again and remained that way, Jason hunched over her, rocking slightly, until Tim found them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ooh how about some little bby tim needing to be comforted by bruce??¿¿??"

“What the fu- frick?”

“Really, Jay?”

“He’s like five! I’m not gonna curse in front of a kid.”

“Oh, _that’s_ your line in the sand?”

“Screw you, Dickie-”

“Boys.” Bruce kept his voice quiet, not wanting to startle the child. “Now’s not the time. Dick, contact Zatanna, ask if she can find the magic behind this and reverse it. Jason, go try to find some clothes that might fit him. Also,” he looked down at the boy in his lap, wrapped up in his cape. “Cookies.”

After the two left, the boy relaxed into Bruce’s hold, staring up at him with huge, blue eyes. His voice was so soft and small in the vastness of the cave.

“You’re really the Batman?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’ll get me back to my mom and dad?”

“Yeah, Tim. I’ll get you back home.”


	17. Chapter 17

“I’m not gonna make it, Jay.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s true.” Dick gripped the broken arm, holding it in place as best he could. “I’m no good like this.”

The arm was the least of his problems. Jason knew Dick couldn’t do a thing in that condition. “I’ll carry you.”

Shaking his head, Dick fought back tears. “I’d slow you down. You don’t have the time. Get out of here, Jason.”

“No! I’m not leaving you behind.”

“We both know I can’t recover from all of this. I’ll never fly again.”

“But Dickie-”

“Please, little wing. Just go. It’s my turn, okay?”

“You bastard.” Jason ran, knowing he would never forgive himself. Behind him the building crumbled down, debris flying everywhere.

“Ow!” Tim clutched his face. “One of your blocks hit me in the eye! Do you two have to play in here?”

“We were here first,” Dick countered as he sifted through the plastic bricks and found his action figure. The arm was twisted at the elbow in a bad way. Hopefully Alfred could fix it again.

Jason started putting the building back together. “Yeah. Anyway, we invited you to play with us.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “We’re grown men, we shouldn’t be playing with Lincoln logs and toy soldiers.” He got up from the couch, tucking his book against his chest protectively. “Besides, I can’t find my Princess Leia figurine, and I won’t play without her.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [sciencefictioness](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness): Oh god now I need an angsty ghost Jason fic if such a thing does not exist it needs to happen....

It took time for him to realize what had happened, what he was, even after coming to on top of his own grave, reading his name etched in the stone. It was a mistake, he thought. He couldn’t be dead because he was standing there, able to read his own headstone.

But then people ignored him. More than that, they walked _through_ him as he stumbled down the streets of Gotham.

Jason was there but he wasn’t. He yelled but was silent. He raged and pleaded and punched but the world went on around him.

It was all a _mistake_ , surely. Magic or something, and Bruce would know how to fix it.

Jason made it to the manor and it was dark in a way he’d never seen. He searched the place, calling out, hoping that somehow Bruce or Alfred would hear him even when no one else had. He made it to the cave and the first thing he noticed was a glass case with a uniform hanging inside, well lit and perfectly preserved.

Robin’s uniform.

His uniform.

That’s when Jason looked down and realized he was wearing the tattered remains of that very uniform, bloody and shredded.

Some detached part of his brain pointed out that the one in the case couldn’t be the same, not even Alfred was good enough to have repaired it so well.

The rest of him broke.

Jason screamed and he heard it and he felt it but it didn’t echo, didn’t fill the cave like his voice had always done.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You never loved me, you loved what I could give you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the request was TimKon and I don’t really ship TimKon, so I wrote this so it could be romantic or platonic (in my mind it’s platonic).  
> Also, I don't think this is that great. I went through a slump and I'm clawing my way back up into writing.

“You never loved me, you loved what I could give you.”

“Lame,” Kon drawls as he tosses popcorn at the computer screen.

Tim leans forward to pick up the pieces, casting a glare at Kon. “Don’t waste popcorn,” he chides and shoves it in his mouth.

“Well, I needed to throw something, and I figured you didn’t want to be chucked.”

“Not now.”

“Yeah,” Kon grunts, shifting, rearranging the pillow he’s leaning on. The two of them are sitting sideways on Tim’s bed, propped against the wall, legs straight out in front of them and the laptop resting on one of each of their thighs. A movie plays on the screen, something that Bart had recommended (talked about incessantly until Kon agreed to check it out) and Kon is so close to flying out there and hunting Bart down. This movie is not, as Bart had said, ‘a cinematic masterpiece’. It is, in Kon’s opinion, a mushy waste of time.

“It’s really bothering you,” Tim observes around a mouthful of popcorn.

Kon watches the woman on screen race across a bridge in the rain, chasing after a man and crying. “It’s so… melodramatic. Do people actually act like this? I mean, why is she still going after this guy who treats her like shit?“

"People are stupid, I guess. Well, not _stupid_ most of the time as much as _blinded from reality and desperate for affection_.” Tim wipes his fingers on Kon’s shirt, ignoring the look that earns him. "But yeah, that is how they are in real life.“

They watch silently for a while as the man has a life-changing epiphany and decides he truly does love that woman and he was just scared.

"Hey, Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love _me_ , or do you love what I can _give_ you?”

Tim laughs. “What the hell can you give _me_?”

Briefly Kon wants to be offended, but then he realizes that there really isn’t anything he can give this guy who has the world at his fingertips, aside from just his company. His smile when things are rough and listening when Tim is frustrated and flying across the country any time he calls.

“So you do love me,” Kon coos.

Tim turns and gives him an _of course, dumbass_ look.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""tears" with Bruce and Tim (platonic), pretty please?"

He saw it, all the tiny signs, buried under a nearly perfected mask and practiced body language. He saw it because he knew it so well. How it felt and exactly how to hide it.

Bruce saw that his son was broken. He watched Tim smile, eat dinner like normal (normal for Tim, which was terrifying) and joke with Dick.

Maybe Dick could see it too, and that’s why he’d stayed home for the night.

He wanted to help. It hurt, his son hurting. The thing was, Bruce didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know what to do or say or how to make the hurt go away, and really, deep down, he knew why. It was because he was _unable_ to help. There _wasn’t_ anything he could do or say. He _couldn’t_ make the hurt go away.

If there was, Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be the man he was. If Alfred had had some magical fix, the perfect words and blend of tea, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be… _him_.

So he sat and watched the pieces of Tim fall away as he talked lightly about things that didn’t matter, except when he’d almost let a name slip, catch himself and move on to a different story, and in that slightest moment another bit of him was lost.

It was lost already, but Tim was covering the gaping holes in himself with fake cheer and hard work. If he didn’t acknowledge the soul-shattering emptiness, it wasn’t there. It would go away. He would be fine.

He was fine.

(He wasn’t, he wasn’t at all and Bruce could see it so clearly.)

Tim was fine.

(It hurt, it hurt like hell and Bruce couldn’t do anything.)

(He couldn’t do anything but hold Tim as he fell apart later, tearing at the holes, the emptiness, the places where _they_ should be. Bruce held his son as the boy cried and Bruce was so proud of him because already he was healing better than Bruce had any hope of.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fire, flames, or excessive heat. + A stolen kiss."

The world was on fire, or maybe it wasn’t the world but the crumbling house he was in, maybe just the neighboring buildings and the street and whole damn city. It was the world for him. Every wall being eaten by it, the ceiling blackened by smoke, the roaring of flame that sounded like mocking laughter.

Explosion.

Fire.

Laughter.

Jason coughed, lungs burning in a way he knew too well and he thought it wasn’t quite fair. Then he thought the universe was trying to right the mistake that was his second life, insisting on this, and he raised his gloved hand, middle finger extended at the universe.

He heard his own wheezing, current and past, and was grateful this time he wasn’t beaten so badly, and that the only thing fucking with his breathing was the smoke. Not broken ribs and blood trying to drown him.

He was grateful too to be alone.

On hands and knees he crawled to the thick, metal door, jiggled the knob. Locked, and he counted the deadbolts (eight). He knew already the windows of the small house were barred.

Jason flopped his ass to the floor, leaning against the thing trapping him in hell. His head rolled back. Slowly, because he had only one thing to do in the time he had left, he slipped off his jacket and shook out a pack of cigarettes. He searched the pockets but couldn’t find a lighter and he started to laugh until tears landed on the back of his hand.

Jason sat in a world of fire, holding an unlit cigarette and remembering how the cigarette smoke smelled when _she_ turned her face away. He could almost see her, blonde hair charred and clothes burned, even though he’d _tried._ He saw the fear in her face and could never regret trying to save her, even after what she’d done.

The Sheila he saw now through smoke looked so sad, and he marveled at that, since he’d never actually seen her look sad in life.

The roof groaned. The floor crackled.

Jason blinked, weary, and thought maybe the universe was right. He looked up again and saw Catherine, pale and thin, lying on the floor. She was crying, or it could have been Jason. The smoke around him, filling his body, smelled like burned food left on the stove, nearly burning down their shitty apartment because she’d passed out an hour ago.

A section of drywall fell away from the wall opposite the door, and the whole building shuddered. The heat was overwhelming, and yet his hands felt cold. Not his hands. His blood.

Sheila crouched down next to him. Catherine sat up, pulled herself over to his side. He felt a soft kiss brush against his forehead, another on his cheek.

“Mom,” Jason whispered, choking on the word and the blackened air.

He was grateful to not be so alone.


End file.
